Smoke and Mirrors (45 page)

In that moment, Brent saw the sky as the limit. The potential seemed immeasurable. He hated his father for not pulling his coat, teaching him the way this shit worked, but that was okay; he’d have to find a way to teach his damn self. And he would, for he was a natural. This shit lived in his damn bloodline. That was the day on which his pimp DNA burst free, infused into his system, contaminating him from his head to his damn feet. It cut off his heart valves, zoomed straight to his head and turned an innocent, heartbroken boy into a soulless monster. He was changed forever more…

*

C
arla sat across
from Royal as she rolled her joint nice and tight. It had been a while since he’d allowed her into his bedroom, equipped with black light Jimi Hendrix framed posters, a round bed covered in cheap, dark pink satin sheets, and a closet full of clothing from some going out of business sale. She hated everything about the mothafucka, from his pockmarked peanut butter skin, his blue-black permed hair that stayed kinky at the nape due to the wide collars he wore, and his breath that reminded her of burnt tires and cigarette ashes. Nevertheless, he was the lesser of many evils, so here she was, taking what she could. Also in his favor, the man was damn good at what he did. He could talk a tambourine-shaking churchgoer into fucking for free on the strip. He just had a smooth way about him, and it made him attractive to the right target.

“So.” He slid his short tongue across the paper, sealing his own joint just so. “You say the shit is at Paris’ house?”

“Yeah, that’s what Juniper said, at least some of it, anyway. She and Smoke are making money hand over fist. They’ve joined forces like some damn superheroes,” she said with a sardonic laugh.

He shook his head as if disgusted, then grabbed his infamous gold lighter with his name engraved across it, and lit his shit up.

“Smoke done turned into a mothafuckin’ simp.” He chortled. “He pussy whipped. I ain’t never heard of that man falling over some bitch. Nose wide tha fuck open now… I heard
all
the shit about Paris’ ass. Heard she gave primo head back in tha day, and had some
good
ass pussy, tight and foreva wet… must do kegels or some shit as much dick that’s run through it and her shit still clap back, snug as a fuckin’ clam!” He laughed. “Lotta pimps wanted to get her when she was real young. She was a damn dime,
still
is, but she wouldn’t choose.” He sniffed, then cleared his throat loudly. “She’s manipulative too, a liar. That bitch out here fuckin’ up the game. Shouldn’t no bitch be in her position. Women wasn’t made to be no goddamn pimps. And she payin’ them whores too much fuckin’ money. That’s the problem, that’s not how you run shop.”

Bored out of her mind, Carla took another look around.
Yeah, and we can see your way is working much better…

But she kept her damn thoughts to herself.

“Smoke’s ass got no fuckin’ respect when he first entered the game. His father was the real deal!” He pointed defiantly at her as he made his point. “That fuckin’ tall ass, long black haired, rocker dude lookin’ mothafucka knew how to break a ho the fuck down. Then, he took his bitches off the street and opened up that escort service. Back then, that was almost unheard of. He was a mothafuckin’ pioneer. Smoke though,” he said, shaking his head, “turned that shit around and word got out that he was breakin’ mothafucka’s backs. That bastard was out here puttin’ fuckers in the hospital…these dumb ass tricks.” Suddenly, the man’s eyes turned to dark slits, got real small, as if he recalled something upsetting, something that made his stomach turn.

“Smoke got some respect then because really, it helped
all
of us, helped weed out the riffraff and then we didn’t need to go after they ass. He got this
strange
anger towards johns.” His eyes narrowed as he took a puff of his joint. “It was like he was lookin’ for a reason to fuck ’em up, then he calmed down a bit, but he built that damn stable, catching some of the finest white and Asian bitches I ever fuckin’ seen. He was turnin’ out Wall street hos from New York, ’nd shit. I can’t knock his hustle back in the day.” He showed his customary lopsided smile.

“But Smoke never understood the importance of breaking a bitch in the proper way, procedure. Every ho will try you.” He narrowed his eyes on Carla, making his words stick. “Every goddamn one. He is gonna be sorry for trustin’ a damn ho. That’s all Paris is, a pretty ho with some sense in her head and a sassy, smart ass mouth that needs to be knocked the fuck off her face. She good lookin’, look better than a lot of these bitches out here, and these mark ass mothafuckas fall for that shit. If she wasn’t so fuckin’ short, what is she? Like 5’6, 5’7 tops?”

Carla shrugged. “Probably 5’7…”

“She could probably be in a fuckin’ rap video or something. That’s what she needs to be doing instead of pussy peddlin’, fuckin’ up the goddamn game! I can’t imagine them fuckin’. He’s like a whole foot taller than her little ass! He’s a tall ass white clash of the mothafuckin’ titans son of a bitch! Smashin’ that little brown Bambi… I bet he get off on that shit! Her shit probably echoes after he get done fuckin’ ’er. I bet that’s some shit!” He cackled, finding his words more than amusing.

Carla rolled her eyes as she continued to listen to the man drone on and on about the bitch and her alleged sex-life with the Great, White Hope. At this point, she was certain Royal must’ve had a thing for the Queen Bee at one point in time, the way he almost obsessed over it. But she ignored him, like she did most of these fuckers running around here.

“She talk too fuckin’ much, disrespectful little bitch! I’ve heard about some of the shit she’s done and said; she been out of pocket one too many times. So anyway.” he leaned back on the bed, got comfortable. “Yeah, I think I can do something with this. I know enough about Paris to make this shit work.”

“You aren’t going to talk to Smoke?”

“Bitch, is you stupid?! No! Paris is still a ho; whether she wanna believe that shit or not is irrelevant. She got a ho mentality. Once you get turned out, you will
always
be a ho. She love that man, right? That’s all I need. She gonna wanna help her Daddy.”

Carla nodded in agreement. It didn’t matter—as long as Paris was hurting at the end, and her pockets were lined, that was all that concerned her.

“Now I know you are tellin’ me this because you want a piece of the action. I could just have her get robbed, but nuh uh, we gotta do better.” He tapped his temple. Swirls of smoke from his joint eddied into the air. “Think smarter than that. I’ll take care of it, don’t you worry, and you’ll get some, I’ll make sure of it.” He leaned forward and placed his joint in the little tin ashtray, then returned to his lying position. Reaching for his belt, he tugged aggressively at it as he sneered and grabbed his long, floppy cock.

“Now get over here and suck dis dick…”

*

Paris arrived back
home at four in the morning. The girls were asleep in their beds, and it had been an exhausting weekend. She had some accounting to take care of as it was payday… That meant one thing and one thing only. She’d be up way into the morning, finishing up the paperwork. That was the nature of the beast.

Damn, I’m so happy to be home.

She stepped out of her car, her keys jangling in her hand, and made her way up the cobblestone pathway. The motion detector bathed her in warm light as she approached the front porch.

My feet hurt. Can’t wait to get these shoes off…

As she drew closer to her front door, she was suddenly blinded by the high beams of a dark car that seemed to appear out of nowhere. She quickly turned and placed her hand over her eyes to serve as a visor.

Who the hell is that?

Smoke was out of town on business; there was no way it could be her baby and she seldom had houseguests. Her instinct kicked in, and a feeling of dread and foreboding swam within her. Someone quickly got out of the car, but left the damn thing running. Whomever it was, was moving faster than her eyes could see. Her heart beat out of her chest as she swiftly dug in her purse, desperate to retrieve her gun. She gripped the damn thing, but it was too late… The silhouette of a broad shouldered man loomed over her before she could even wrap her finger on the trigger. He rammed cold steel into her forehead, the muzzle pressed painfully against her skull.

“Get your fuckin’ hand out that damn bag, bitch. Open this goddamn door and let’s go inside. We got some business to discuss.”

She took a deep breath, desperately trying to keep as calm as possible, though trickles of sweat meandered down the side of her face.

Of all the fucking nights for me to not be driven home!

Once she opened her door, her alarm sounded, blaring for anyone within a quarter of a mile radius to hear.

“Turn that shit off,” he huffed, his barreled chest pressed firmly into her back. He pushed the gun now into the back of her head. “And don’t try anything stupid, like the panic button. I will blow your head off.” She made her way to the alarm panel and did as told; her fingers slightly trembled as she pressed in the code. Suddenly, a ceiling light showcased the two of them. He’d flicked the damned thing on, revealing himself.
Royal.

Her brows dipped in confusion. She’d never had any beefs with the man, and for the life of her, couldn’t figure out why he was doing this.

“Sit down!” he ordered, waving his gun towards her dining room table.

She did as instructed, slumped down in one of the eight chairs, determined to keep all emotions from showing. That’s what he wanted no doubt, for her to beg, cry and fall apart. That’s how pimps like him were—they got off on the pain, the tears, the sorrowful cries. Oh no, he wouldn’t get it. Not today, not
ever.

“Now, I understand you got some good cash rollin’ in,” he said, revealing the ugly reason for his visit. “And I understand you’re gettin’ this on the regular. I want a piece of that. I want thirty percent of everything you make, you got me?”

“That’s impossible,” she said coolly.

“Oh.” He chuckled. “You must think this some damn joke, bitch. I know what you got goin’ on, and I want
in
on the action. You and Smoke’s ass just building a damn empire, huh? Making all this money, hoarding it, not sharin’ the wealth. Now here’s the thing, Paris.” He abruptly grabbed the chair beside her, startling her. Turning it around, he straddled the thing and rested his arm on the back of it, lazily waving the gun around as he spoke. “I know Smoke is probably the brains behind all of this, and like a true simp, to make your ass feel comfortable no doubt, he let you keep the money in your own damn house, as an act of good faith. Well, here I am…at your door, selling ho-scout cookies, wanting a slice of that pussy poppin’ pie.”

He looked her up and down as if he could simply devour her right then and there. She threw up on the inside. The thought of him next to her in
any
manner, especially sexually, made her contemplate suicide before letting him touch a hair on her damn body…